


my hands to give you a home

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: “It’s good to see you,” Neymar says, leaning close.“You too, brother,” Dani says, grinning. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because I love you, okay?”or, coda to the Juventus match





	my hands to give you a home

**Author's Note:**

> I caught a case of the feelings and the football monthly trope prompt was reunions so.

 

 

Neymar comes into the second leg determined to stay focused. They’ve come back from a high loss before, this season, and he’s confident, in himself, in his teammates.

 

But, there’s no Rafa to bump him companionably before the match, to jar him back into his body. Rafa’s season is already over, another injury and more frustration.

 

Still, Sam steps in almost seamlessly and jabs his elbow into Neymar’s side as they line up in the tunnel, grinning at him, not shy in the least. Neymar grins back, says “Merci” and mispronounces it deliberately to make Sam laugh as he moves on to his place behind Geri.

 

Neymar hears Dani coming before he sees him.

 

Dani seems to be playing the tour guide, narrating the walk to his new teammates like several of them haven’t walked down the Camp Nou tunnel many times in their career. This goes especially for Buffon, who walks at Dani’s side placidly, his eyes darting around, calculating.

 

Neymar has always liked Buffon, even if like this, he scares him a little. His smile is too wide, his teeth too bright and he looks too happy to see him every time, like a giant fox that’ll sweet talk him before it sinks its teeth into his flesh.

 

But Neymar is focused on Dani instead, at the way his face lits up brighter when he catches sight of him, at the way he flies down the rest of the stairs to grab him into a hug.

 

Dani smells familiar. He’s worn the same aftershave since Neymar’s known him. It’s an old man aftershave, perpetually at odds with Dani’s frequently flashy exterior. Neymar closes his eyes, just for a moment, breathes him in and pretends that things are slotting into place. But when he opens them, Dani’s still wearing the wrong jersey and reality reasserts itself.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Neymar says, leaning close.

 

“You too, brother,” Dani says, grinning. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because I love you, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Neymar says, softly, watches Dani get pulled away by his new teammates.

 

He shakes off the feeling of wrongness from his limbs, catches Leo’s gaze when he turns around, nods firmly to the question in it. He’s ready.

 

The world around him sharpens as soon as he steps onto the grass, gains a sort of patient urgency that he doesn’t get from anything else. The sound of the Camp Nou fades into a dull roar in his ears and then the whistle goes, and he’s moving, eyes only for the ball.

 

It’s always been that way, ever since he was a child.

 

But this is not a game between children.

 

Every time he flies down the wing, Dani’s there, keeping up, his cleats swiping at Neymar’s feet, snapping at his heels, less like a man and more like a pack of rabid dogs. And yet, every time Neymar looks up from the ball, he’s still the same old Dani, face twisted under sweat and the weight of his determination.

 

They need the goals, but nothing goes in. Neymar tries and tries until exhaustion burns in his lungs like fire and sweat falls like tears into his eyes.

 

Nothing goes in.

 

The whistle sounds like a blow to the chest and for a moment in time, everything goes entirely silent, before it collapses on itself.

 

There are no barriers on the field, no filters. You can only be who you truly are and show how you truly feel. Everything is amplified - anger, frustration, joy. Sadness.

 

He feels the tell-tale warmth in his eyes, buries his head in his hands, overwhelmed. And then another body bumps him and arms wrap around him in a hug, and he recognizes who it is before Dani even starts talking.

 

The smell of his aftershave has been stripped away by the sweat, but Dani still smells familiar, like sweat and mud and crushed grass. Like laughter. Like home.

 

And for a moment Neymar struggles with himself, between pulling away and pressing in closer. Between the present and between forever.

 

The latter wins, and he hides his face into the hollow of Dani’s throat, lets the tears go. Dani mutters something soft and nonsensical in his ear, but Neymar doesn’t really listen, just focuses on the comforting cadence of it as Dani walks him off the field.

 

At some point, Dani hands him off to Busi. He’s less cuddly in a way, but protective, playing the watchdog as players pass them and pat him on the back. Rationally, he knows they don’t mean it to be mocking, but it feels like that anyway.

 

The cold of the tunnel is a shock to his system. The stark linoleum under his cleats instead of grass helps him wrestle back some of his self-control. Tears stop, leaving behind vague numbness and a hot streak of shame.

 

Neymar passes the medical room on his way, raps his knuckles on the open door where Sam is getting his face checked after the elbow, pauses just enough to see him give a thumbs up, before moving on.

 

Rafaella is waiting for him when he comes out of the locker room. She’s fiddling around on her phone, but she looks up when he clears his throat, and he doesn’t bother reading into the expression on her face, knowing what he’ll find.

 

“I made a post about you on Instagram,” she says, opening her arms so he can hug her. “You better like it. Comment with at one heart, minimum.”

 

Her arms wind around his back, familiar, and she brushes a kiss to his cheek, rising up on her tippy-toes.

 

“Let’s go home,” she says, softer, and he nods, lets himself be pulled along.

 

She’s his ride. Maybe that’s not the wisest choice because she’s only had her license for a few months, but she needs the practice and if she runs over some noisy pap they at least have an excuse.

 

He zones out for most of the journey, up until they pull into their driveway and Rafaella perfectly parallel parks in her spot. He claps, grinning, and she just rolls her eyes at him.

 

All the lights are on in the house and it makes his chest warm to see it.

 

The kitchen and the living room are busy and loud as always. There’s a couple of his friends, more subdued than usual, but clamoring for his attention, trying to distract him. His mom greets him with a hug and a kiss, and his dad waves from where he’s sitting like a king in his favorite armchair.

 

Carolina is sitting at the kitchen table, pale, her hands folded in her lap, always just that little bit out of place. She smiles up at him and he goes over to press a kiss to the top of her hair.

 

“Davi’s already in bed,” she tells him, “but you could go kiss him goodnight if you wanted to.”

 

Neymar does. He spends a long time watching Davi sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest before he presses a kiss to his forehead and gently closes the door behind him.

 

Just then, the doorbell rings.

 

Neymar walks down the stairs and part of him already knows who he’s going to see when he opens the door.

 

Dani blinks at him from the doorstep. Stripped of his jersey and dressed down like this, he looks smaller somehow. Tired.

 

“I’m here,” Dani says, a soft tremor in his voice, an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

 

Neymar smiles, opens his arms. “Welcome home, brother,” he says.

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Neymar's relationships with the people in his life are very important to me. Also if you think I've forgiven Higuain for that elbow on Sam, you would be wrong.


End file.
